


like a mirror

by wangler



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:19:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1373671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wangler/pseuds/wangler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’m not alone," Stiles says, jaw tight.</p><p>"I know." Void leans in, fits his mouth against Stiles’ jaw to show him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a mirror

**Author's Note:**

> deliberate ambiguous ending

Void is hunger. Fathomless hunger.  
  
The boy who calls himself Stiles stumbles around a corner, feeling his way like a blind man. His shoes squeak against the polished floor as he stumbles, leans into the wall, wheezes. Helpful, here for him after all, Void takes Stiles’ arm and steadies him on his feet.  
  
Void shudders, bites back a groan, when Stiles’ expression twists up with shock-fear-anger.  
  
"You," Stiles says, like the word has gone foul.  
  
"Like a mirror, isn’t it?" Void’s boy-body reacts, nipples going tight, cock swelling in constricting pants. He enjoys this form, revels in the life left in it, the vibrant responses of youth. He places his hand where Stiles’ neck meets his shoulder, runs his thumb beneath the collar of his shirt. Stiles’ skin feels like smooth stone. So cold. "You are in pain."  
  
Stiles might resemble a lost lamb, all trembling limbs and pink mouth, but his eyes are dark and hazy with a heady mix of rage and pain, and Void thinks he is very beautiful.  
  
Void allows his perception to broaden. The oni are his now — an extension of his spirit. He can feel the spark-clash of their blades as they fight the young warriors who are trying so desperately to meddle with magic beyond their comprehension.  
  
He has plenty of time.  
  
"They’ve left you all alone," Void tuts, crowding Stiles back against a wall of lockers. They rattle, familiar, a prop from Stiles’ wreck of a mind.  
  
Every living thing has a flame within, lit upon kindling of worth, love, self. Stiles’ flame stutters. He doesn’t believe in his own light, and it makes it so easy for Void to slip into the shadows, to weave ribbons of darkness around Stiles’ heart.  
  
"I’m not alone," Stiles says, jaw tight.  
  
"I know." Void leans in, fits his mouth against Stiles’ jaw to show him.  
  
"What?" It’s just a breath, a tremor. Stiles’ revulsion gives the agony new depth, a richer taste. "Don’t." He pushes and makes no headway, though not for lack of effort. Void feels a warm buzz of pride when confronted with how very stubborn the boy is. His mind should have gone quiet and still by now, but he’s still fighting, still cultivating pain, radiating it.  
  
"Let me have it," Void says, voice hushed and hungry. "Give it to me."  
  
He devours Stiles’ quiet agony with slow kisses across his cheek. It rushes into him, dizzying and white-hot, near-endless but not enough to satiate him.  
  
"Stop," Stiles chokes. He noises like he means to say it again, but the sound catches with a wet click at his throat.  
  
It’s only human to want the hurt to go away.  
  
Void fists Stiles’ hair, pushes his face into Stiles’ throat, sucks an angry mark there, tastes sweet tears and shame, and the bitter sting of relief.  
  
Stiles goes clumsy, loses his footing and sinks down to the floor, is if paralyzed by the absence of pain. His body, like the matching boy-body Void wears so well, wasn’t built for the kind of abuse it’s taken. He’ll sleep soon, his mind and body trapped in a state of nothingness, just a shell to tether Void to this world.  
  
"You don’t have to fight anymore," Void says, settling himself over Stiles’ hips. He grinds his wrist down against his erection. It doesn’t feel as sweet as Stiles’ pain does — it’s a baser pleasure. More immediate, and fleeting.  
  
They fit together, pushed close like entwined fingers. “If I had more time, I would tear you apart,” Void says. He draws a slow line with his finger from Stiles’ armpit to his hip. “Open you up, see if our insides match.”  
  
Stiles voice is raw. “They don’t.” His arms hang limp at his sides, as if weighed down.  
  
Void licks Stiles’ mouth, forces it open with his tongue. Stiles is sour inside, body weak with thirst and hunger and exhaustion. He can’t feed the way Void can. He can’t survive the way Void can.  
  
When Void pulls back, eager to survey the boy’s bruised lips and pale face, Stiles smiles at him. It’s cruel and soft, disorienting in its familiarity. “Do you want to know a secret?” Stiles asks.  
  
There’s only one secret Void wants — a name lodged in Stiles’ heart like a thorn. It hasn’t budged. Fear, pain. None of it given Void leverage. Maybe now, as Stiles faces what he believes to be death, what will certainly be oblivion, he’ll give the last shred of himself over. He’ll taste like defeat, failure, hopelessness.  
  
"Yes," Void says. He cannot deny his hunger.  
  
An afterthought of pain pricks at Void’s hip, at the fleshy part above the bone.  
  
A small plastic cylinder rolls out of Stiles’ fingers. Void stares at it, waiting for the knowledge to lock into place. He’s still learning this new world, this world fresh with chaos.  
  
"I still had one move." Stiles laughs thickly, the sound blurring. "A divine move."  
  
Void’s boy-body lists, uncoordinated. It’s not kanima venom. It’s different. “Medicine.”  
  
"Sort of, kind of the opposite." Stiles’ eyes blink slowly, and then stay closed. "Letharia… something. A shitload of it."  
  
"No."  
  
"It’s fox poison. They put it in food, so the foxes would stupidly eat it. And die," Stiles slurs, his wet mouth hooked in a grin. It’s the last


End file.
